Becomes, a Woman
by OtakuLibra
Summary: A tribute to the women of Star Trek in ten chapters. Because these ladies do not get nearly enough love. Possible slash/femslash. Final chapter posted.
1. General Order 13

Terribly sorry for the shake-up here, everyone. This story, as well as the next four, all originally appeared in my story "I Dare You to Do Better." However, I have since decided that I wanted to do a series for all the women of Star Trek, so I'm moving those chapters to this new fic. Also, Renee is not an OC. She is one of the officers on the bridge of the _Kelvin_.

Thanks for putting up with all these changes, and enjoy this loverly new fic.

* * *

This was supposed to be Renee's last mission. Technically, her last mission had been months ago, a nice, routine milk run. A last taste of the strange camaraderie the _Kelvin_'s crew had developed over the past year. She would miss it, and it was nice to feel the way they all clicked, all ran smoothly and perfectly together, one last time.

But she was ready to do something different. She was going back to the Academy, to teach. It was what she'd always wanted to do, really. She liked the fact that her crew, even when she had just signed on, didn't hold that against her. And Renee, in turn, appreciated being on a ship with 900 people who were just as smart as she was.

It was always supposed to be a temporary assignment, to give her experience on a starship past what was technically required. To help her grow, so she could groom the next generation of Starfleet officers. That's what Komack, one of the newer admirals, had told her.

Technically, her last mission had been months ago. Technically, she should be in San Francisco writing up her syllabus. And then, there had been some sort of emergency, and here she was.

Renee was sure there was a kind of dark, vaguely humorous irony in this. She could see Kirk, the XO, Narita, the Communications Officer, could see their fingers flying over consoles. There was no hesitation there, no fear. Kirk's wife, Winona, their tough-as-nails Chief Engineer, was currently in sickbay, hours into labor. Renee could see no doubt of success in Kirk's eyes, and she knew Winona well enough to know there would be none in hers, either.

She was unsure whether to be in awe of them or to weep for them.

Perhaps, she should have been weeping for all of them, sobbing with every rock and shudder of the ship. Intellectually, yes, she should have. But she couldn't. Renee was a professor, an academic. She did not belong here, on a starship, fighting for the lives of 900 people. And yet… Somehow, in that moment, everything came into stark, crystal focus. Her life did not flash before her eyes, no, but everything seemed clearer. Renee could feel her every breath, every heartbeat, as she never had before.

Every second that passed seared itself into her mind.

They were going to die, and she was the only person on the bridge who seemed to realize that glaringly obvious fact.

Somewhere, she could hear Robau give the order to evacuate. She caught his gaze, watching her. He was a good captain, close to his crew. He knew she wasn't supposed to be here, wouldn't, in a few more minutes, if things worked out right. Renee almost smiled at him, but something caught her attention. Her eyes darted to the viewscreen, where a bald, tattooed Romulan had appeared, presumably from the enemy ship.

Her blood went cold.

They were all going to die. Realization seemed to strike them all at once, and the bridge was focused on Robau. All except Renee. She couldn't bear to look at him.

She was never supposed to be here.


	2. Twelve Minutes

**Part two, carried on from the last chapter. **

* * *

Renee isn't sure what she had expected, but this isn't it.

She's standing on the porch of this old farmhouse in Iowa, shifting nervously on the creaking, whitewashed wood. She can't hear movement inside, and she wonders if she should knock again. The door is dark, navy blue, paint peeling off the wood. Renee doesn't blame them for wanting to live in a house like this. It's old, _really_ old—she doesn't think they even made houses out of wood after the 21st century. Space doesn't feel anything like this. She can't blame them for wanting to feel something different.

And okay, if she's waxing philosophical about the _door_, it's probably time to knock again.

But before her hand has time to move, the door is swinging open. And there's Winona.

She's wearing a loose white tank top and a pair of shorts, and she's got her son cradled against her shoulder, clutching a strand of her hair that's fallen from the knot at the back of her neck. Renee notices the dark circles under Winona's eyes, how pale she is. Somehow, she manages to look strong, despite the way she hangs back, wary, her hand going protectively to the baby's back.

"Hey, Winona," Renee says, feeling as if she's talking to a stray dog, like Winona's a second from either attacking her or bolting. "Can I come in?"

Winona doesn't look like she wants to do it, but she opens the door wide enough for Renee to step through. There's music playing somewhere in the house, and Renee is vaguely surprised at how clean and bright it is. There's a soft breeze blowing in through the open windows.

Renee's apartment is a mess, and if her shrink sees something Freudian in that, she can only imagine what he'd say if he saw this.

"You want coffee?" Winona asks. She's patting the baby's back absently, but her eyes are locked on Renee. It's too intense, and Renee squirms under her stare.

"Yeah, sure."

Winona disappears into the kitchen. Renee is probably supposed to follow, but she can't move.

She hear footsteps, small, rushing down the stairs. Renee looks up. It's Sam. Renee's never met him, but she's heard George and Winona talk about him before. He's six, and he breaks Renee's heart. He's too young for this, for his dead father and his broken mother.

"Mom?" Sam's frozen, standing at the bottom of the stairs. His brown eyes are huge. Renee wants to hug him, but he looks terrified at her just standing there.

Winona's in the hallway in a second, still holding her other son. She looks between Sam and Renee for a moment, and Renee's stomach clenches.

"Sammy? Sammy, come here," she says, holding out her other hand. Sam takes it, looking at Renee suspiciously. Winona retreats back to the kitchen and this time Renee follows.

Winona gestures to the table with her head, slipping her hand out of Sam's grip expertly, reaching into a cupboard for coffee mugs.

Winona drinks her coffee black. Renee normally puts milk in hers, but not today. She doesn't want to think she's too afraid to ask. There's just something about the atmosphere around this woman.

Winona sits across from her at the small kitchen table, sitting the baby in her lap. Sam parks himself on the floor nearby, and Renee feels his dislike, as if she is somehow _other_, and intruder.

"His name is Jimmy," Winona says, slowly. "I don't think I ever told you that."

"No, you didn't." Renee pauses, feeling awkward. "He's beautiful."

Winona gives Renee a look like she's about to either laugh or cry. "I know. Poor kid."

Renee doesn't know what to say to that.

"So why are you here?"

It's a good thing Winona was an engineer. She's a genius with engines, but she's godawful with people. George was always great with people.

"It's been a year," Renee says. She didn't mean to say that. She'd meant to say 'I don't know.'"

"Look, if you're trying to get me to some bullshit Starfleet thing, you can tell Komack to fuck himself. I'm not interested." She's toying with Jimmy's hair, soft and honey blonde like her own. Renee shoots Sam a glance when Winona swears, and her eyes drift to the floor when she finishes speaking.

"No, it's not that." She isn't exactly surprised Winona doesn't get it.

"Good. I fucking told Komack, I'm taking three years off. No space till Jimmy's old enough to stay with George's parents." Renee's amazed at how gentle her voice is with the boys, standing in stark contrast to the complete lack of emotion when she says George's name. "So if that isn't it, then what?"

"I just… I don't know. It's been a year. I'm teaching now. And I'm on three different anti-depressants. It's been a _year_, Winona."

Winona just _laughs_. "And you think that's supposed to be enough? You always were naïve, De Luca." Renee shrinks back, gripping her coffee cup. Winona's leaning forward, eyes crushingly intense.

"So your life sucks, and you think maybe if you can talk to someone else who was there that'll help? You think you'll be able to sleep again?" Winona's holding Jimmy too tight, and he starts to cry. Winona's face immediately goes soft, and she hums a lullaby, rubbing small circles in Jimmy's back as he snuggles into her shoulder.

She looks up at Renee a moment later, eyes cool. "You're a professor, De Luca. You're an academic first and an officer second. And…" Of all times, _this_ is when her voice catches. "Starfleet's going to change after this, you know. People like you aren't going to be the best and brightest anymore."

Renee can't speak. She can't _breathe_.

Winona's right. Renee doesn't know how she knows. Everything in her is disgusted by it. But Winona's right.

It's just…. She doesn't want to think about what kind of people Starfleet needs now.

Her coffee's gone cold.

"I wasn't supposed to be there."

Winona looks at her, this fierce, penetrating stare. Like she's trying to figure Renee out. It's disconcerting.

"Wishing you weren't doesn't change anything."

"I know." She _does_ know. It's just… She almost died, and you don't just go on living after that, like nothing's changed. Renee looks around her and there's no way to deny it. Everything's changed. The house is utterly devoid of George's warmth, of whatever Winona was with him.

"Sometimes," Winona continues, and it's slow, calculated, like she wants to make sure it comes out right. "Sometimes there isn't an all right. Sometimes you don't hit equilibrium. Sometimes it doesn't ever stop hurting. You have to do something with that, De Luca. Otherwise, you'd better go shoot yourself in the head now."

It's so _strange_, hearing Winona give advice. It's harsh, and Renee's not sure what to make of it, but it makes Winona, badass, larger-than-life Winona, seem human. It's amazing and frightening all at once.

Renee stands up. "Thank you," she says. Winona doesn't move. Jimmy's curled sleepily in the crook of her neck, and she's still holding him protectively, even though there's nothing for her to protect him from, here.

"I'm sorry about George," she says, knowing it's a filler, knowing she has nothing else to say. Winona seems to understand, because she gives a curt nod and doesn't say anything.

Sam runs up and hugs her on the porch. Renee doesn't understand Kirks.

* * *

**Twenty years later**

Jimmy Kirk is in her Advanced Tactics class. He's got George's eyes, Winona's strong, uncompromising presence, and a smile that's a weird mix of both of them.

She still doesn't understand Kirks, but she does understand that he is what Winona meant when she talked about a new kind of Starfleet officer. The kid's going to be great, a legend. Renee was on the _Kelvin_. She knows a hero when she sees one.


	3. Her Shot's on Her

**Simone is not mine, other than her name. (Also, random, but the title of this story is a quote from Simone de Beauvoir. "One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman.") She's the mod-looking woman in the bar scene. **

* * *

The thing is, everybody knows Jim Kirk. Simone doesn't, technically, but she hangs out in a bar in Iowa, so she kind of knows him by osmosis. It could have been any bar—at least, that's what she's been told—and she probably would have seen him. And she has, a few times, but she hasn't met him so much as been hit on by him once, and she doesn't count that.

Her name is Simone Louise Brady. Simone, because it was exotic. She likes to tell people, later, when she's in college—studying philosophy because she knows she's going back home to the farm, so why study something useful?—that her mother named her after Simone de Beauvoir. Really, she doesn't even think her mother knows who Simone de Beauvoir is, and if she ever comms home, going on about existentialism and the human condition (perhaps after one too many martinis, but still), her parents will just smile in bemusement. Anyway, it's what she likes to tell people, and it makes her seem… somehow beyond the little town in Iowa where she grew up.

The Louise is for Louise Brooks, because her family may have been the stereotypical Midwestern farmers, but they appreciated culture, in the abstract, anyway. Which is why she's _in _college, so she should at least be thankful for that. She appreciates that fact that her mother may not know Kierkegaard from Baudrillard, but she does know her obscure 20th century movies. It's something, at least, and if growing up in Iowa has taught her anything, it's not to judge.

So, the night Jim Kirk hits on her in a bar just on the outskirts of Riverside, she doesn't slap him like she almost wants to. She just smiles her biggest smile and tells him to fuck off.

See, Simone ended up right where she'd planned, which is distinctly more depressing than it possibly should have been. She's back to living with her parents, along with her two younger sisters, who are twelve and fourteen, respectively, and her ten year old brother, who's a menace to _everyone_. And… it's where she expected to be, after college, but it's nowhere near what she wanted, even if she's not exactly sure what that was to begin with. She works for her dad, doing his bookwork, and she's got a part-time job at the local library, cajoling kids into reading instead of just tearing up copies of _Moby Dick_ for fun.

One weekend, her first year after graduation, Sarah, her old roommate, calls her up. Sarah's living in Des Moines, and she basically guilts Simone into coming to see her. They spend the whole first night bemoaning fate, and the next day Sarah, who was always the more optimistic one, demands that they go out shopping. So they do, and Simone comes home with a suitcase full of these gorgeous clothes that she'll probably never wear. But she _wants_ to. She wants to be that girl.

So, the next weekend, she goes out to the bar. There's only one good one in town, The Warp Trail—which, stupid name, but the bartender is _great_ and flirts with her in a non-predatory way, which makes her feel comfortable enough to come back.

It's like this. Riverside is a small, boring Midwest town, and Simone's never getting out. She knows. But that's during the week. Come the weekend, Simone does her hair and puts on her nice clothes and paints her eyes thick with makeup. She becomes someone else, then, someone who had the life she'd never dared envision but always sort of wanted.

Simone Louise Brady doesn't drink this much, doesn't dance like this. Simone, though—"Just Simone," like she tells Jim Kirk when he slinks up to her at the bar—Simone does, and she loves it. Simone is a happy drunk, energetic and extroverted the way she never is at home.

Jim Kirk is a sad drunk.

Okay, she's not looking. Really. It's none of her business, and she'd had her chance to sleep with him, and she would've taken it if she'd wanted it, so it's not that she's got a thing for him. It's just that he's _there_, and you can't help but notice Jim Kirk, really. He fills up every room he walks into (or at least, she imagines so; she's never seen him anywhere but here). So anyway, it's not that she's looking.

It's just that he's sliding up to this girl, thin, pretty, with long hair and dark skin, and Simone can't really help that she's got a front row seat. Which just so happens to give her the perfect angle to see that, shit, he's kind of an asshole but he's got some seriously sad eyes. He's probably the saddest drunk she's ever seen, which is saying a lot, and she pities him.

She pities him only slightly less when he gets into a fight and knocks over her drink, but like she said, he is kind of an asshole.

When the next weekend comes and the bartender tells her Jim Kirk's left for Starfleet? Well, yeah, he's an asshole. She wonders if space is far enough away from here, and she wants to run. She wants to get out, like he did. Not to Starfleet—she was never cut out for that, and hello, _philosophy degree_. Just out.

Gods, does she hate him.


	4. Pure Transparent Freedom

**Now this one? This one I _wish_ was my OC, because she is _amazing_. However, she is not mine, I have only given her a name. She is the fauxhawked nurse standing behing McCoy in sickbay when he brings Kirk in after they get on the _Enterprise_. The title is--again--a Simone de Beauvoir quote (surprise surprise. Guess where her name came from). **

* * *

1

She is eight years old, and her mother is furious, grasping the razor hard enough to break. She's holding the dustbin in her other hand, switching between Standard and French as she shouts, accent going thicker the angrier she becomes.

Aella just runs her hands over her newly-shaved head in joyous wonder.

2

By the time she gets her second lip piercing at fifteen, her mother's given up on screaming. Somewhere between the hair, which is currently long and dyed rainbow-colors, and the nose ring, her mother just gave up.

And Aella loves her, really she does, so she stays away on nights when her parents have company, because she wants to let her mother pretend.

3

It's her dad who convinces her to apply to Starfleet. He knows her, loves her, Aella doesn't deny it. It's a distant sort of love, but that just means he can be objective in ways her mother can't. So she does it, because she trusts her dad and she wants her mom to feel like she can be proud of her.

4

She picks nursing because she likes people. Likes to fix them, yeah, but she becomes a nurse instead of a doctor because she doesn't like how detached it all is. The doctor may give the orders, but it's Aella who wields the hypo. It makes her feel connected, and that's the best part of fixing people.

5

Aella takes the civilian shuttle to Baghdad. Her mother honest-to-goddess _cries_ at the Paris station, and her father ruffles her short, newly-bleached hair.

They spend the night in Baghdad, and that's where she meets Sulu. He's shy, quiet, and melancholy, while she's honest, open, and outgoing. It's one in the morning, and Aella's jet-lagged and an insomniac, and then she decides she wants to be outside.

Sulu's the only one still awake who seems vaguely interesting, so she drags him out with her. They sit on the hotel roof. He tells her about Japan and his ex-boyfriend in Tokyo, and she tells him about her parents and how the boys dance in Paris.

6

She's not so much drunk as a little buzzed, and Iowa cops obviously don't give a shit. She's got Uhura in the passenger seat, long hair teased out of its ponytail by the wind, and Sulu and Giotto are sprawled out in the back. The night is beautiful, and Iowa's all flat, so the sky stretches out _forever_.

Aella's bunked with Uhura, and when they collapse half an hour later, she tells Uhura it's nice to feel like she belongs somewhere. Uhura's asleep already, and that makes Aella smile.

7

Aella goes home for spring break her first year at the Academy. She's always known her parents loved her, but it's the first time she sees pride in her mother's eyes.

Aella's still got the fauxhawk, and she's got a tiny diamond stud in her nose, and she still wears her eye makeup thick and dark, but she's a nurse and she's in Starfleet. It's enough.

8

She meets Jim Kirk because Uhura knows him, which is how she meets Leonard McCoy. He's already a doctor, so he's an officer by the time that distress call goes out from Vulcan. And if it wasn't the _Enterprise_ she might have been a little worried about favoritism. It's a bit hilarious that McCoy requested her, because they're drinking buddies, sort of. McCoy's one cynical son of a bitch if this is how little he trusts Starfleet Medical.

Aella likes him. Hell, she likes the _Enterprise_. Everybody's fucking _crazy_, and she's never felt more at home.

9

Aella's an insomniac, but she doesn't bother medicating most of the time. She'll work gamma shift sometimes, and then she'll catch up on sleep through beta. She likes working gamma, and even when she isn't she likes being awake during ship's night the way she never did on earth.

Uhura, Aella discovers, takes walks through the ship when she's too worried to sleep. They'll meet sometimes, and that's how Aella finds out Uhura's a runner. She takes walks because she misses running. Aella tells her she's had trouble sleeping since she was a teenager, and she likes the way the ship hums when it's quiet. Chapel bitches at her about it (she's picking up habits from McCoy), tells Aella she needs to sleep more, that her body can't handle it. Aella just laughs and ignores her.

10

The problem is, Aella knows them all too well.

She remembers Sulu when he was a quiet, awkward, heartbroken kid. And Kirk when he was an alcoholic slut. And Chekov, who's really grown up since the Academy. Uhura, she goes on midnight walks with, and McCoy… Well, McCoy hasn't changed much at all.

It's nice, really, being friends with them, but it kind of fucks with the chain of command. Aella, though. Aella doesn't mind. Because she's never been into authority, and when she was eight she shaved her head to prove it.


	5. You've Got to Step Up, Stranger

They've been on red alert for an hour, and she thinks that a ship full of geniuses should be able to figure out that blaring klaxons an hour into an emergency is _not_ conducive to the kind of concentration needed to keep the ship running. But nobody's too worried about that, because the Captain's gone. Of course. This is the _Enterprise_; their away missions tend to follow a pattern. Easily quantifiable. Commander Spock should probably have this down by now. Maybe he does. However, Captain Kirk does not tend to give such numbers credence.

There is a reason she hates Alpha shift.

When she goes home on leave, her mother gives her medicinal teas and tells her to meditate. Tells her how weak her aura is, how battered. She knows this, but normally she does not mind. She likes the press of bodies, the brushing of auras against her own. It is energizing; it helps her do her job.

But this? This is a mess. This is the thick, heavy feeling of fear, apprehension, anxiety. Starfleet trains their cadets well; only the youngest, greenest among them show any signs of fear, and the officers are always calm. But she can feel their energies, bright, glaring reds and yellows and oranges. This, they cannot hide. It is too much.

"Yeoman Quin!" She's hearing someone calling her name, and she's trying to distinguish voices, to count stripes so she knows whom to answer first. It is dizzying, and then the ship rocks left, and she's trying to ignore the sound of explosions and shouted orders, trying to isolate the voice calling her name.

"Yeoman Quin!" There's a hand on her shoulder, firm, insistent. She spins around. It's Hannity, looking pale and shaken. Her auburn hair is coming loose from its ponytail, and she keeps glancing back at her console, nervous. "Rebecca Quin, right?"

She nods. Hannity relaxes a little, barely visible, before snapping back to attention. "You're needed on the bridge."

Quin nods, and Hannity puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. Then she's gone, back to her station, trailing muted red energy behind her. She's pressing one hand to her earpiece as the other flies across the console.

Quin stumbles into the lift, breathing heavily. Uhura's standing there, her hand pressed to the controls. Quin straightens, gluing herself to the wall and saluting, trying to suppress the secondhand terror gnawing at her stomach. Uhura smiles, calm, her aura dark blue. All Quin feels is determination, resolve.

"Quin, right?" Uhura says, and Quin wonders how she can smile so brightly when the Captain's gone and they're all probably about to die.

"Yes, sir," Quin murmurs.

"They're going to have you take over communications. Think you can handle that while I go help Spock save the Captain's dumb ass?"

Quin nods, numbly. She's a bit in awe; she's never heard an officer talk like that. The informality is kind of refreshing, but also sort of terrifying.

Uhura's eyes are liquid steel, indomitable and burning. "You sure? If you can't, tell me now. Nobody'll judge you."

Quin bites the inside of her cheek. "I can do it."

"Good. Tell Lieutenant Davis she has the conn."

"Yes, sir."

"Good luck."

The lift opens on the transporter room, and three deep, cleansing breaths later Quin is on the bridge, ruthlessly quashing the swirl of negative energies around her.

Davis, a dark-skinned Human woman with multi-braided hair, is at the helmsman's station, eyes locked on the viewscreen.

"You have the conn," Quin tells her. She can see the spike of red in Davis's aura and the way she pushes the sensations down.

Then Quin slides into the Communications station, smiling at Madeline, the Science Officer and the only calming presence on the bridge.

Four years of the Academy and another years' training on the _Ulysses_ kick in, drowning out the auras and stressed voices on the bridge around her.

There's half an hour of silence planetside, and Quin can _feel_ the way Davis is tensing in the command chair.

And then there's Uhura's voice, staticky but there. "Uhura to _Enterprise_." Quin's fingers dance over knobs and buttons, isolating their frequency.

"Lieutenant Uhura, this is the _Enterprise_. We read you." Quin is on autopilot, she can hear it in her voice. The entire bridge relaxes, releasing a collectively-held breath. Relief, but it sounds like it's hell down there. There's phaser fire, muffled in the background.

"Look," Uhura says, her voice clipped, strained. "Spock's emotionally compromised, and we haven't gotten to the Captain yet. If you have to, you need to tell Davis to _go_. Got that?"

"Yes, sir," Quin says quietly, wanting desperately to disagree. She can see Davis spin around in her chair, can feel it when she recognizes Quin's tone. The aura of the bridge is suffocating. Quin is not naïve; she knows what this means, just as much as Davis does.

If the Captain dies, if Spock and Uhura and Sulu can't save him, what chance in hell do they have? She wants to turn in her chair, to ask Madeline. Quin is sure she knows the odds, could calculate them in her head, but she's a little scared to know.

Two hours pass, interminable. Quin's drowning, oversensitized, trying to keep it together. Because this is her _job_, and they might all die if she can't control herself. Her aura is flickering, weak. She'll have to meditate for hours after this.

If she's still alive after this.

She hates that this is her life, hanging helplessly somewhere between sanity and death.

And then Sulu and Uhura are on the bridge, and nobody bothers to tell Davis to move because Sulu's taking the helm and Uhura's barking orders, voice powerful, but hoarse, tired. And Davis is frozen in the command chair, watching the bridge move around her.

"Quin," Uhura says, reassuring hand on her shoulder. She smiles when Quin turns, sighing in relief. "Good work, Yeoman." Quin nods, allowing Uhura to take her station.

Madeline, Hannity, and Charlene Masters fill it all in, later, the chaos on the bridge, until Aella Beauvoir shows up with drinks, courtesy of Doctor McCoy. Aella insists that it's against the rules to drink after a crisis if they're going to spend the time talking about said crisis, and she's the one who brings the alcohol, so they're all at her mercy. They drink, and they talk about normal things.

It is madness, Quin's still being here. Her mother tells her this constantly, tells her she should come home, should teach or something. She doesn't know why, but she's still here, and she loves it. It is… She doesn't, always. She hates it, some days. But then, there is something about the energy of this ship, of her people, that keeps her here.

Her aura may be damaged, perhaps beyond repair, but she does not regret. She calls Davis in to join them, and she feels whole.

* * *

**And finally, we get an actual OC. Credit goes to Shally-wa for naming her. And credit to Tegan and Sara for inspiration. The title comes from their song "Someday."**


	6. Minimum Safe Distance

**Once again, only her name and her story are mine. She is the woman who takes over Sulu's station when he does his craziness with Kirk and Olsen. (Yay for background characters!) **

* * *

Her focus was command; she majored in astrophysics. She's a pilot. She knows how to run a starship. She's been through the simulations. And this? Is the goddamn _Kobayashi Maru_. Pike's gone; Sulu and that Kirk kid are on some fool mission to destroy that _thing_ out there; Spock is in the transporter room with Chekov; and even the _Kobayashi Maru _wasn't this insane. No-wins she can deal with, but this is fucking ridiculous, and nobody on the sim was _this crazy. _

She was always the captain when she played Starfleet with her brothers. It's what she's always wanted, to fly starships.

Her father was a teacher, her mother a jeweler. It was her grandfather who inspired her. He was a retired Lieutenant Commander, a tall, strong man with large, calloused hands. She knew the parts of a starship, knew ranks and titles and star charts before she was in high school. This is her _life_. And her death, should it come to that.

It just might come to that.

Her father was quiet and bookish, much too reserved for her. When she was fourteen, the duty of teaching her to drive was given to her grandfather. He was the only person in her family who could talk over her.

"Jo," he would say sharply whenever she made a mistake. It was never Jolene with him the way it was with her parents. He never raised his voice at her, but he never coddled, never treated her as if she might break. It was simply "Jo," and he would trust her to correct the problem herself. She would learn—did learn. It made her strong, got her here, to the _Enterprise_.

She still hears an echo of his voice in her head when she's flying. He was always her best teacher. She needs him.

She is in command, if only for a few minutes, of Starfleet's flagship. She cannot make a mistake. The lives of 400 people rest on her shoulders, and she cannot allow this to break her.

Later. Later, it will hit her that six billion people are dead, that Vulcan is gone. That she saw it happen, and that everything they did, that losing Pike and almost killing half their senior officers, wasn't enough. Later, she will light candles and say prayers. Maybe she will call home, and maybe she will even cry.

But for now, she is sitting at her station, watching the viewscreen, unable to tear her eyes away. No one should have to see this. Which is very likely the reason she is still watching. Starfleet was her life before she even knew what it meant.

"This is it, Jo." It's her grandfather's voice, but not the strong, unflappable one she knows so well. It's tired, sad. It's all the things he never allowed her to hear. This is part of it, she knows.

He never told her how hard it could be. Granted, he never witnessed the death of a planet, but still. The Federation was barely twenty years older than him; he was there as it struggled through its own adolescence. He understood what she would be facing, and he expected her to deal with it, to be a good officer.

She would be. She had the echo of her grandfather's voice in her mind; she would be strong.

When Commander Spock—Acting Captain Spock—returns to the bridge, when Sulu retakes his station, she will return to her quarters and she will thank her grandfather. Then, she will light candles and she will say prayers for the dead. Not for herself. She has had enough of that, and she must be strong.

"Jolene Davis," her grandfather's voice says, "Do me proud."


	7. Knowing Oneself is Enlightenment

**The title of this chapter is a quote from Lao Tzu. Thought it was appropriate. **

**Madeline is not mine. She is the alien science officer we see on the bridge when Sulu utterly /fails/ (but we love him anyway). She shows up again next to Hannity just before they reach Vulcan. **

* * *

In San Francisco, identity is fluid. This is the first thing she notices when she arrives. Perhaps this is a characteristic applicable to all humans, she hypothesizes.

She enrolls in Starfleet Academy as Madeline. There is no transliteration of her name; it is unpronounceable by the human larynx. She is not bitter about this. It is not humans' fault, after all. It is a question of biology, and that is immutable, at least for human beings. Their evolution is slow, unconscious.

Perhaps, then, this is why humans have such a peculiar relationship with identity.

Madeline's people have their identity written into their skin. The story of their people, their evolution, from before birth it etched into her body. Madeline's identity is clearly visible to those who understand the language of its ridges and valleys.

Here, the people have no memory. They are slippery, holding nothing and incapable of being grasped.

Humanity is fleeting.

Madeline is a xenobiologist. Evolution unfolds before her, spectacular and brilliant like a star in nova. Art, music, dance—all this is superfluous. Nothing is so beautiful as life. All else is a facsimile, a cruel illusion of truth.

Humans revel in their illusions, lovers of aesthetics without knowledge of true beauty. They have no idea what they are. So they become transient, they search, and Madeline pities them. She knows the comfort of understanding herself in all that she is, but, perhaps, the appeal is in the discovery. And this Madeline envies them for. She will never feel that sensation.

She is a fourth-year cadet when Vulcan is destroyed. They assign her to the _Enterprise_ as a junior science officer.

On the shuttle, she sits next to Nyota Uhura, a grad student and linguist. Madeline likes her. She is not like many other humans. She is reserved, always purely herself, but she does not impose, does not dismiss that which she does not understand. They talk, and though she is incapable of speaking the language of Madeline's homeworld, she knows enough of the languages of the surrounding systems to follow if Madeline speaks slowly. She appreciates this, that she even tries.

Uhura does not ask about her skin. It is a strange sort of relief. Madeline is proud of the story she carries, but she is glad, sometimes, not to be asked.

Still, nothing is better than the feeling of being on the bridge. Here, she is simply Lieutenant Madeline, and none of the humans see her as any different. It isn't as if she has even been mistreated by them—had she been, she would never have stood for it. However, there is a lingering sense of _other_ that she does not feel with her people. It is not a conscious reaction, she knows. Merely a residual fear of predators that causes this recoil against that which is different. Still, it is nice to be seen completely as an officer, without questioning eyes.

She is a scientist, not an experiment.

She is on the bridge when Vulcan collapses in on itself, swallows itself into an empty, gaping maw of a black hole. They only barely escape.

But Madeline cannot forget. Months later, she is still haunted by the destruction she witnessed. Six billion Vulcans, millions of species of flora and fauna, many only found on that planet, all wiped out in the space of a few minutes. It makes Madeline feel sick to think of it.

So much beauty, gone. Because of one man's hurt.

Madeline sees nothing in black and white. Her eyes do not perceive light as humans' do. For her, everything blends, a synthesis of light and color and movement. Shapes are less well defined, but oh, the things she sees. It is not precise, but she sees _life_. This is more than enough.

And because of this, she is certain that Nero's identity has somehow changed. He must have had another life, before this madness. She cannot guess what it was, but she hurts for him, for what he lost that broke him so.

Madeline's identity is in her skin. She is incapable of forgetting it. And this is her strength.


	8. To Hold the Stars

**Another Romulan! Don't ask me why, but I kind of like them. They're... Fascinating... Hopefully, I got all the Romulan words right. I'm not really sure how accurate my dictionary is...**

**Also, this lovely lady is canon. She's the communications officer on board the _Narada_. **

* * *

When she is ten years old, Rh'Asta breaks a boy's nose. There are five of them, Rh'Asta, Ayel, S'Talon, Lhaes, and his twin sister Latta. On late afternoons, when the sun sets low and red over the plains around Rateg, they go into the wasteland, their secret place. It is Ayel who brings Nero, on a night just after the school year has begun, when the tree limbs hang full with fruit and they spend their evenings catching insects and wrestling.

Ayel introduces Nero to them, one by one. He smiles at them all, friendly but showing his teeth. She challenges him, as she does all of the new ones, as she did with S'Talon and Lhaes and Latta. She is the oldest, the biggest. She is tall, strong and sharp. It falls to her.

Her father named her Rh'Asta. He told her, the first time he put a blade in her hands, that it means "to hold the stars." He taught her how to fight, how to kill, how to be strong.

"You have strong Rihannsu blood," he would tell her, guiding her arms into a defensive position. He stepped with her through forms, defensive to offensive, fluid, but powerful. "You are lucky to have been born so strong."

She does not doubt this.

And so she circles Nero, his hands balled up into fists, held out too far in front of him. She almost laughs, pityingly. This boy is not a warrior. He attacks anyway, crying out as his fists swing wildly around him. He has no balance; his blows are not difficult to evade.

Nero is emotional, even for a Rihannsu. This makes him admirable, deserving of respect, but it does not make him a good fighter. Within thirty seconds, Rh'Asta has him on the ground, blood pouring out of his nose.

In the Rihan language, the prefix "Rh" is traditionally male. Sometimes, Rh'Asta thinks this explains things. Sometimes, she thinks the boys forget she is a girl; they treat her just as they treat one of their own. Rh'Asta, mostly, doesn't mind. She does not dislike being a girl, nor does she shun female companionship. She simply feels more comfortable running and sparring with the boys.

When they are eighteen, Nero leaves. His father, apparently, is an important man. Hearing Nero talk, the way he adds inflection to certain words, the way he has picked up the local slang dialect, you would never know it. He doesn't speak the way the high-castes do, doesn't move with their haughty grace. Rh'Asta respects this, though, as she tells him, she can still break his nose.

After Nero leaves, Rh'Asta and Latta are the only ones who go to the plains. They lie in the tall grass and watch the stars. Latta says they are beautiful, but Rh'Asta is the one who reaches for them. She stretches her hand toward the sky, clenching her fingers around swaths of dark, grasping at stars.


	9. Will You Kill All the Dreamers?

**I'm sorry this took so long to update. But I've got this chapter and then I'll have the next one up today as well. Originally written for the Awesome Ladies Ficathon on Livejournal, I figured it fit well into this series. **

* * *

Her father maintains that the whole thing is because her entire childhood was spent hanging around Starfleet brainiacs-"And whose fault is _that _exactly," Joanna replies. What he doesn't know (and Joanna tries not to be bitter about the fact that he's been gone most of her life, really) is that she doesn't want to go into Starfleet for him, hasn't since she was ten and he left.

Joanna wants to go into Starfleet because of Neil Gaiman.

She discovered comics when she was nine, read the web downloads on her PADD voraciously. But the web and the authors could only take her so far, and it wasn't long before Joanna was scouring the web for anything older, more obscure.

And that's when she discovered _Sandman. _

Johanna Constantine did things even Dream-practically a god-couldn't do, ended the Reign of Terror single-handedly. Joanna McCoy loves her.

It's why, when she's a lanky, too-tall sixteen year old, she sends in her application to Starfleet, at night when her mom's working late and she can't talk herself out of it. She wants to end wars and do things gods can't do.

"Joanna Marie McCoy," Daddy says when he comms two days later. "Tell me you didn't."

"I did."

"God fucking dammit. You gonna be a doctor like your old man?"

Joanna shakes her head. "Command."

"Jesus."

"So, command, huh?" Jim says with a crooked grin.

Joanna nods, giving him a bright smile back. "Daddy's not happy."

"You can say that again."

Joanna sighs, leaning back in her chair and staring up at the ceiling.

"Hey, kid," Jim says, and Jo tilts her head down to look back at the screen. "You're gonna be good, you hear me?"

"Thanks."

"McCoy!"

Joanna hefts the practice phaser rifle over her shoulder and runs for cover next to Anderson.

"Two o'clock," Anderson whispers, back pressed to the wall. Joanna turns, sliding the barrel of her phaser into a nearby opening, looking through her infra-red goggles.

"Two heat signatures," she murmurs. "Cover my back." Anderson lifts her phaser pistol, body all tight, controlled lines.

Joanna loosens her grip on the rifle, aims, squeezes the trigger as smoothly as she can. A shout, the flashing lights of a target attached to one of the heat signatures. Joanna can hear Anderson's breath in her ear, quick and nervous.

"One more," Joanna whispers, feeling Anderson's nod more than seeing it.

She squeezes the trigger.

Daddy cries at the graduation ceremony. He denies it, later, but Jim swears he's got photographic evidence.

"You'll be the terror of the Fleet in no time, kid," Jim says, later, ruffling her short, shaggy brown hair. She glares at him. "Wait'll they see how good you are with an EMP cannon."

Joanna grins at him and winks. "They ain't gonna know what hit 'em, Captain."

She's going to one-up Johanna Constantine if it kills her. Which it won't. Jim wasn't kidding about that EMP cannon.


	10. But This I Demand

**And the final chapter is among us! This was also written for the Awesome Ladies Ficathon. The prompt was for the women of Jim Kirk's class at the Academy, and I hope I succeeded in capturing that. (And I threw in some Number One, because she's just too awesome to leave out.)**

* * *

Bethany Maddoc brings him cookies three days after the Narada disappears in a swirling cloud of energy and the screech of metal being compressed and ripped apart. She doesn't knock first.

"Um, thanks," he mumbles, not sure what the protocol is for stuff like this. He knows girls, he's friends with girls (or was, some of them; something in him still can't believe Gaila's gone)

"The _Enterprise_," she says, non sequitur. Jim raises an eyebrow. "My mom made them. I just thought you might need them more than I do, is all."

He gives Bethany a grin, shy and embarrassed at the edges. She smiles back; she's got a nice smile.

She goes for the door, then stops, abruptly. "We've got to stick together, you know. Those of us left."

Jim nods at her back. "Thanks for the cookies, Beth."

Nyota sits in the creaky leather chair, feeling like she's in grief counseling. With the world's worst therapist. She stares at her nails.

"I'm fine, okay?"

Her advisor shakes her head, straightening the end of one instructors-gray sleeve. Her hair is in a practical bun behind her head; her blue eyes are clear and sharp. It makes Nyota squirm like a five-year-old, every time.

"Commander..."

"You may call me Number One, if you wish."

Nyota's nail bites into the side of her finger sharply. She chews on the inside of her lip. "Number One, then."

"You have applied for the position of Chief Communications Officer aboard the Enterprise?" Number One's icy blue eyes regard Nyota. It's... Kind of eerie.

Nyota nods. "It's... I belong there. Number One."

"I know the feeling. If your captain is at all like mine, I believe he will need you."

Unexpectedly, Nyota laughs. The atmosphere loses some tension, warmth finally seeping into the conversation. "Yeah, me too."

"No, yeah, I totally agree with you, okay?" Jim says to the coalition of uniformed women crowded into his dorm room. "I mean, not like you don't all look hot in those skirts or anything-especially you, Uhura, damn-but okay, you're right, it's a little sexist. I just don't know what I can do about it, you know?"

Janice Rand holds out a PADD, tapping against the screen with the stylus. "That's why we drew this up," she says. "Just sign."

Jim looks up at her in amazement. "Okay, you're brilliant. Who do you belong to?"

Janice glares at him. "I resent that comment, Kirk. I've been assigned to be Lt. Commander Scott's yeoman." She can't exactly contain a vague sense of disgust. Jim grins.

"Okay, forget that shit. Scotty doesn't have any use for you, trust me. You'd tear all your hair out within three days trying to organize and clean up after him. As of now, your brilliance is mine." He punctuates with a flick of his wrist and a signature before winking at Uhura and Charlene Masters. "Leggings, nice. Sounds like you two. Now get the hell out, will you all? I have to convince a stubborn Vulcan not to go home and breed. Have a nice day, ladies."

They can't all be there, of course. A good percentage of the Fleet is gone; there are gaps to be filled. But they're there, a lot of them. As many as can get signed on. (Gender ratio is an almost perfect 45-45, give or take 5-10% for beings with multiple or nonexistant genders.)

Jim Kirk is the only one from their graduating class to be a captain-of course, did anyone expect that to happen twice?

Bethany isn't the only one who thinks they need to stick together, as much as they can. They're the youngest crew, on average, of any ship in the Fleet, the highest percentage ever all from a single graduating class. And they're damn proud.

Jim Kirk is damn proud.

He's in the 'lift, on his way to the bridge-his bridge-bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. The doors slide open on deck seven, and Uhura gets in, giving him a slightly teasing grin.

"You'd better not fuck this up, Kirk, you dumb hick."

"I don't intend to, Lieutenant," he says, grinning ear to ear, all teeth.

Number One slips in next to him, silent in that way she's always had. It's saved Christopher Pike's life more times than he can count, but it can be damn unnerving sometimes.

"Yes, First Officer?"

She smiles, that tiny smile people who aren't him rarely notice. "You still believe there is something Starfleet has lost, Captain?"

He looks over at her, pride glowing in gray eyes. "I think we may have just gotten it back."

She nods. "I cannot argue with your assessment, in this case. A former student of mine, Nyota Uhura, will be the Communications Officer. She will perform admirably, I think. As will they all."

"Roger that, Number One. We raised those kids good, didn't we?"

"Affirmative."

Christopher laughs. "Oh hey, did I tell you that thing about the leggings? It's hilarious-and completely brilliant. I think you would approve..."


End file.
